


all my friends are falling in love

by slipsthrufingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Lost Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Princess Bride Fusion, Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 22:44:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slipsthrufingers/pseuds/slipsthrufingers
Summary: Your one-stop shop for all the various bits and sundry tumblr prompt fills I've completed for Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth.Some are original works, some are linked to my other fics. They will be clearly labelled and hyperlinked.





	1. The Tides alternate POV - Brienne in Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's POV of the final scene in chapter 5 of [The Tides](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039995/chapters/47455144). This will spoil that fic, and I urge you to read that before you read this.

The scream woke her. It pierced the quiet of the night like a dagger, and she sat bolt upright, alert and reaching for her sword before she properly took in the scene before her. The moonlight laid it all clear enough for her to see. They were still in the cave, still alone. Ser Jaime was still asleep on the other side of the fire, which had burned down to embers. He moaned, and writhed, both arms waving in the air as though trying to push away an enemy, and then he cried out again, a broken, hoarse, terrified thing that shot straight through to her heart.

Brienne was out of her bedroll and by his side in a heartbeat, hand on his shoulder and calling for him to wake, “Ser Jaime.” She squeezed his shoulder and dodged his arm, which flew out to ineffectually push her away. His face was screwed up in misery; tears leaked out through his shuttered eyelids. It was too much.

“Ser Jaime,” she repeated, firmer this time, and this time, it broke through. He stilled under her hands, not even moving to breathe, eyes moving wildly as he looked about and oriented himself. “You were dreaming.”

He let out a shallow breath and pushed against the ground weakly. But whether it was because of the dream, or his emaciated state, he couldn’t, so she helped him to sit up, careful not to touch anywhere near his injury. He held it tight to his chest, face blotchy with stress and pain, plainly afraid of further agony.

All at once, a shard of guilt sliced through her heart, painful and cold. She had spent much of the previous day angry at this man. Angry that he was so rich, that he could walk about the country labelled Kingslayer, and yet still be treated with more respect than she would ever be, that he was so free with his words and many other imagined slights, because truly she was angry at him for keeping her from her father. But of course, he did not know that was what he was doing. He did not deserve to be treated so by her, not when he was so plainly unwell himself.

Her father would not be happy to see her treating this man so. If their positions were reversed, and her father was here with this man, she knew what he would do.

Once she was sure Jaime could hold himself upright, she fetched her waterskin and a handkerchief from her saddlebag, pressing the cloth into his hand first. He looked at it as though she had handed him some strange, foreign object, confusion writ clear on his face, and she was almost struck mute by how mortified she felt. “You’re crying,” she whispered, so that no one, not the forest critters outside could hear.

He flushed too, and turned to wipe his face, and when he turned back, she pressed the waterskin into his hand so that he could drink. That, too, bewildered him, and before she knew it, she found herself speaking. “I saw my brother die, when I was very young.”

The words rolled off her tongue easily, though it was a story she had never told another soul before. Brienne had never wanted to tell it, not to anyone other than her father, who knew all the details anyway so there was no point. If anyone ever asked her what had happened to Galladon, she simply said, “He drowned when I was a girl,” and left it at that, and people were polite enough not to ask for further details. She had never told anyone of the dreams that had haunted her for months afterwards, nor had she spoken of how her father had cared for her every night until she felt brave enough to return to her room to sleep without fear of what she might see once she closed her eyes. But she did, to him. To this broken man, who listened attentively to each soft word, and who leaned in closer to her, like a flower leaned towards the sun, drinking in every word.

Absurdly, _he_ looked like he was about to cry again. His mouth worked tightly, as though itching to keep himself contained, but she could see how exhausted he was. How drawn and defeated. She passed him the handkerchief as the first tear fell, and then in the same movement she reached for his hair, to brush it out of his face. Impertinent and inappropriate, but who was here to see but them?

He leaned into her hand, his face pressing against it with an urgency that surprised her. He was flushed and warm and suffering, so she did as her father had done when she had suffered, and pulled him into a hug. She wrapped both arms around him, shhing him when he sobbed into her shirt and gripped her more tightly, doing her best to gentle away his pain.

She held him for some time, it was impossible to tell how long in the dark, but when they eventually pulled apart, he seemed calmer. Exhausted, still, but calm.

“I’m sorry,” she said, keeping her hand on his thigh, “for the way I spoke to you yesterday. You did not deserve my harsh words. I know you were only concerned for my honour, and it was not right for me to take my bad mood out on you.”

He blinked, plainly confused, and shook his head. “It is no matter.” 

That would not do. She gripped his thigh a little tighter, and looked at him directly, “You have been fair to me and my people since you arrived. I have seen nothing but honour and kindness in your actions, even though I can see that you have not been well, and this trip has taken a toll on you,” she said, feeling the truth of every words. It was the right thing to say, this apology, and she needed him to understand and accept it. “I was wrong. I am sorry.”

For a moment, she could not read his face. He struggled with something and his throat worked tightly, lips thin. But he nodded, and accepted her words. She smiled and held out the water skin once more. He had not drunk before, when she had first handed it to him, but he did now, and looked better for it when he was done.

It was the work of a minute to move her bed roll next to his, where she could be near to him again if the dreams returned. She stretched out beside him, so that she could be as close to him as her father was to her, ready to offer him comfort if it was needed. It took some time, but soon enough she heard his breath even out with sleep, and it was only then that she let herself relax enough to drift off herself until she woke beside him the next morning.


	2. Trope mashup challenge - Criminal + Forgotten First Meeting

**Criminal AU x Forgotten First Meeting **

The man sitting on the other side of the interrogation room hadn’t spoken a word since he’d been brought in 8 hours ago. He hadn’t been rude, hadn’t sworn, had been completely compliant in every way, except to answer the questions put before him.

Catelyn was getting frustrated, Brienne could see. Her voice was clipped, and there was a line of tension in her forehead that meant she was close to cracking. And they couldn’t afford that.

She tapped on the glass. Three times. _Let me try_.

They swapped places seamlessly, Catelyn stepping out of the room as Brienne stepped in. His green eyes watched her intently, cataloguing every move, every gesture, as she took her seat across from him. He was plainly intelligent, clever, and so obviously dangerous.

And yet, before she had a chance to even introduce herself, or start the recorder again, he began to speak. “You’re from the Stormlands.”

To say she was confused was an understatement. It was true enough, but she hardly had the look of someone from the Stormlands, thanks to her mother’s genes. And she was in her plain pants suit, not dissimilar to the one Catelyn herself was using.

But he _spoke_. That was more than Cat had got. “Yes,” she agreed, but said no more, hoping he would elaborate.

There was a long silence between them, strangely comfortable despite the situation.

Finally his eyes crinkled, a little sneer on his face. “Don’t you remember me, Brienne?”


	3. The Tides - prequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luthien requested a prequel scene for [The Tides](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039995/chapters/47455144). **This contains spoilers for that fic**

It had been an exhausting afternoon, for Brienne and Maester Craiso both. He had spent hour upon hour showing her pages upon pages of ledgers detailing the grain supply, livestock headcounts, crop yields, all far too low to support the population on Tarth. And the shipping lanes had gone quiet, thanks to the strife in Essos. Craiso said he’d heard a rumour that Daenerys Targaryen, the only surviving daughter of the Mad King was rampaging through the cities of Slaver’s Bay with a trio of dragons. Months ago such a story would’ve been too fantastical to believe. But neither would she have believed a shadow could murder a man. In any case, whatever the reason, quiet shipping lanes meant they could not collect their levies or trade effectively.

Brienne couldn’t help but think that her father would know what to do. But it was clear he needed to rest. He slept most of his days away as it was, and when he was awake she did not want to talk to him of taxes and of food stores. It was selfish, she knew, but she wanted to hear him speak of happier times. When they were not two Tarths, but four. When she was nothing but the youngest daughter of a proud father, not the heir to a dying lord.

“What is to be done?” she said to Craiso, unable to keep the despair from her voice. It seemed an impossible problem to solve.

“We could ask for help from the Crown,” he offered, fairly quickly, but she did not begrudge him his haste. He had been thinking on this problem for longer than she, and most likely felt even more powerless in his position. To be a maester was to be in a position of consultation, not of action. 

But to ask the Crown meant asking the Lannisters, even if half of them were Baratheon by name. Brienne had read the letter Stannis had sent his brother. How would a family such as that ever deign to consider her proposal.

“Perhaps,” she agreed, setting aside the stack of ledgers, suddenly exhausted. “But we’ll do whatever else we can before we resort to that.”

“Of course, my lady,” Craiso said politely, but there was an edge of something in his voice that made her pause. He clearly had more to say. She tilted her head, her question writ clear on her features. _What else?_

“It is just… We must find an alternative option soon, if we are to get your father to negotiate with Tywin Lannister.” Brienne’s stomach clenched. _He does not have much time left._

“If it comes to that, I will negotiate,” she said, with more confidence than she felt.

Because she wasn’t ready to be Evenstar yet. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready.


	4. She's Beauty, She's Grace (She'll Punch You In The Face) - Prequel scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nire requested a prequel scene to [She's Beauty, She's Grace (She'll Punch You In The Face)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663693/chapters/49072007). There are no spoilers for that fic.

“Tarth and Hunt will be positioned inside the restaurant to observe and record the meet with Drogo,” Selmy said, looking between them to ensure their acknowledgement of the order.

“Together, ser?” Hunt said, sounding to all the world as though he were simply clarifying his orders. But Brienne heard what he didn’t say loud and clear: We’d hardly be believable together. 

He had said as much to her, back at the academy, back when she’d thought, stupidly, that he was her friend. That he spent time with her because he enjoyed her company, because he thought that studying together for their exams would help them both, or that she could help improve his marksman scores. But she’d been naive. He’d almost taken what he’d wanted from her, before Tarly had intervened.

She wasn’t so naive now.

“I’ll get there a few hours early, make out like i’m a student studying for exams,” she said, before Ron or Mark said anything that would make it all worse. “Don’t you still have that bike messenger outfit? You could be a delivery boy.”

Jaime snorted from across the room. “If it still fits.”


	5. Here Is Gone - alternate POV - Jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aviss requested Jaime's POV from the beginning of [Here is Gone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904848/chapters/49693871). Minor for the first chapter of that fic.

It was his fault the plane crashed. Not literally, of course. But the way his luck had turned on him these past few months, with everything that happened to Myrcella, Tommen, and then to be captured so quickly and easily by her of all people. And then she went and had the audacity to be kind. The cuffs were on securely, but not tightly. She even let him get a beer from the drinks trolley when it came down the aisle. And when the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling, she turned straight to him once she had her own on. She’d done that through her terror, through her fear, so he was able to breathe as they plummeted into the ocean.

After that it was a blur. A blur he was awake for, but still a blur all the same. There was the fall. The impact. The flooding. Screams. The rending of metal. Blood and water and fire. And it all happened in the space of seconds.

But then they were in the water, his cuffs still on but untethered to the seat now. And Brienne too, still strapped in, still unconscious. Not far away there was a girl in the water, who looked just like Myrcella had, before… before…

But beyond her, in the distance, there was an island. There was land.

That was something.


	6. don't drink and uber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bethanyactually requested a ficlet based on [this image](https://bethanyactually.tumblr.com/post/182253966798)

The door closed, then her eyes, as the Uber pulled away from the curb. If she kept her eyes open, she would most likely be sick all over the backseat, and she was just not up to that indignity tonight. She was woozy, and it wasn’t just the wine. 

Jaime had looked especially handsome tonight. His blonde hair curling just so around his ears, so that she had had to physically restrain herself from reaching out, tucking it, twisting it, tugging him forward towards her. He would have let her, too, because he had matched her glass for glass. And when he got drunk, he got happy. And when he got happy, he started complimenting her.

And when he started complimenting her, she wanted… She wanted.

Bzzz.

_wr u 😕_

The message felt like an accusation. The bluish glow of the screen a knife to her gut. She needed to pull it out. This had already gone too far.

_I left early._

_ Sorry I couldn’t stay any longer 🤷🏼♀️_

It was better this way. He wouldn’t want to do anything he’d regret later. He already had too much weighing on him; she didn’t want to be another. The phone buzzed again. A quick succession of messages this time.

_???_

_ wtf?!_

_ wr u going?!_

She let a breath out through her nose, nausea bubbling again.

_ Home._

_ In an uber. Don’t worry. I’ll call you tomorrow._

And she would. But only after a long phone call to Pod first, and maybe even Sansa, so she could straighten out her thoughts. Hopefully between the two of them she would be able to wrangle her feelings back into place and--

Bzzz.

_wtf?!?!_

_ r u srs?!_

_ we were drinking at urs!!!!!!_

For a moment, the letters on the screen seemed to drift in place, wobbling in front of her eyes. That couldn’t be-- No. There was… She looked up, and saw they were stopped at the lights outside her local supermarket. A supermarket which was on the _opposite_ side of town to Jaime’s apartment. Oh no.

Another message appeared on the screen as she held it in her hand. _Putthe driver onthe phn._

Her phone buzzed in her hand again, but this time it persisted. A picture of the MGM lion appeared. _Jaime. _He was calling her. 

Oh no.


	7. noir!au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seaofolives requested 'noir buddy cop au' - she got one of those things.

The squeaky door alerted me to his arrival. I’d been at Pod to grease the damn thing up for weeks, but in retrospect maybe the gods were doing me a favour. The shrill sound of metal on metal was the only warning I got before locking eyes with the most beautiful man this side of Highgarden and it was a good thing I was prepared. I didn’t think they made men like him in real life, only on the covers of three-groat pulp novels, and a weaker woman might have embarrassed herself.

He was blonde and tall, though not taller than me. There were muscles there beneath the expensive suit– he clearly took pride in himself. His virulent green eyes wandered over me, judging me like some prize animal at the county fair, though I could pinpoint the moment he found me wanting. All men did, eventually.

“Did you have an appointment?” I asked, annoyed at his arrogance, knowing full-well he didn’t have or need an appointment. I hadn’t had a real client in weeks. But I wasn’t going to let him know that. I needed work, sure, but there were some jobs that I’d never be desperate enough to take, no matter how high the prize.

He stared me down, but I held his gaze. I wasn’t so easily intimidated, or else I wouldn’t’ve made it as long as I had in this business.

“I need your help,” he said, finally. “Catelyn Stark said you were the best in the business.”

Cat. The name felt like a curse. Poor, dead Catelyn Stark. I swallowed my reservations like a bitter pill. He must be serious, slinging her name around. 

I waved a hand at the chair across from me. “What can I do for you, Mr…”

“Lannister. But please, my name is Jaime.”


	8. sick!fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nire requested 'sick!fic, but Bri's the one who's sick and Jaime has to take care of her.'

The headache came first. She’d put it down to stress, or dehydration-- she’d spent all day out in the hot sun with her classes. The sweatiness and the flushed skin? Those she waved away too. It was summer. 

Sore throat? Her megaphone was broken. 

Sore muscles? She must have pulled something a little when she ran some water out to the footy girls. 

She was fine! She was busy! It was the end of the semester! She was bound to feel a little run down. 

But when she slept through her alarm the next morning? 

Okay, maybe she was a little sick.

The blasted thing hadn’t even buzzed, and the clock on the bedside table said it was far too late for her to call in sick. She would have to roll out of bed and make it through the day. The idea made her want to cry, and for a moment she buried her face beneath the blankets, before it became too hot for her to lie underneath the covers for another moment, and she groaned and kicked it off.

“You’re up, then?” Jaime called from the doorway. She hadn’t even noticed him there. Hadn’t noticed him get out of bed, or have a shower-- his hair was damp and his towel was still draped around his shoulders. She _always_ woke when he got out of bed, even if he was just going to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Just how out of it was she? She _definitely_ should not go to school.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she moaned, reluctantly struggling up to something resembling a vertical position. It wasn’t a good idea. Now she felt dizzy. At least she was still sitting down.

A hand grabbed her by the elbow, steadying her. “I thought you should sleep in,” he murmured, easing her back against the headboard. He took a few of his own pillows and propped them behind her back.

A sleep in? Was he mad! She had to have a shower, get dressed, get to the pharmacy as soon as possible to find some drugs that could help her pass as human for the next six to eight hours while surrounded by gregarious teenagers.

She pushed at his shoulder, ineffectively trying to get out of the bed. But her stupid husband and his stupid healthy body held her in place with embarassing ease. She glared. “I missed the call-in deadline. I need to shower.”

Jaime shook his head. “I already called in for you. I did it when I turned off your alarm--” and then there was a mischievous flash of his green eyes. Brienne always worried when she saw that look. It meant trouble. He added lightly, “Well, I called in for _us_.”

“Are you sick too?”

He chuckled. “No. I thought I should stay home and look after you.”

Brienne opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head and pushed her lank, sweaty hair off her forehead with a tender hand. “Gods know you wouldn’t look after yourself if I left you alone. I’d come home to the house spotless, meals prepped for a month, and you passed out from exhaustion in the shower.”

She mumbled under her breath. No particular word, just general discontent and crankiness at being _seen_ so very much. Her stupid observant, attentive husband. Honestly.

“They’ll all think we’re taking the day together,” she said, flushing red. “_Together_.”

“So let them think that. What do I care if they think I love my wife?”

And without a care for her fever, her sweaty skin, or her snotty nose, he placed a soft kiss on her lips.

Perhaps a sick day wasn’t the worst way to spend a day.


	9. knight in shining armour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> snowymary prompted: 'Don’t ruin my story with your logic“ and 'white'

The sterile smell of antiseptic cleaner burned Brienne’s nostrils, and the fluorescent light was bright, far too bright, for 4am in the morning. She was tired, and cold, and she could. not. stop. yawning. She wanted to be curled up in bed, wrapped in many blankets, with Podrick curled up and purring behind her legs.

Not here. With her doped-up-to-the-ears boyfriend. And sure, she was happy the drugs meant Jaime wasn’t in any pain. She didn’t want him to hurt, and when she had first arrived he had been flushed such a sickly white it broke her heart. But the side effect of painkillers, was that he would _not stop talking_. He hardly had much of a filter at the best of times, but this was not the best of times. Every thought, no matter how stupid, that flickered in his head, was expressed by his stupidly loud mouth. 

“–that’s when we got off the bus and started walking to the next pub, and you wouldn’t believe who we saw there, Brienne, guess who we saw there, no you shouldn’t guess it’ll take too long, we saw–”

She yawned again. This one was jaw-cracking enough that for a moment she couldn’t hear a single thing. It was like she’d found the mute button in her head and all it took was to be so very very tired that your ears wouldn’t work if your mouth was open too wide.

Gods, it was a good thing that her verbal filter was in tact, because there was no way Jaime would let her forget that one.

“– then Bronn said to us that Addam had told him that Tyrion was going to be playing the flute next week, but honestly if he was going to play anything he’d be playing the horn, you know, because he’s so horny and no one else thought my joke was funny, but I laughed and I know you would’ve laughed if you were there too–”

A nurse came in, checked his temperature, his blood pressure, and looked at Brienne with something she was sure was pity when Brienne asked how soon the doctor would be back with Jaime’s results.

“– that’s when Ron said that he’d asked you out on a date in high school, which I said was stupid, because you would’ve told me about him if you had–”

She froze.

“– then he told me all about the thing with the rose, and then I felt like I was possessed, Brienne, there was some holy force within me that was controlling me, helping me deliver justice for you for how that fuckwit treated you,”

“That’s called ‘alcohol’, Jaime,” she said, weakly.

Jaime reached out to her. A little uncoordinated– he clumsily grabbed at her face more roughly than he usually did before he held it still. But his voice was startlingly clear when he said, “Brienne. Don’t ruin my story with your logic. I’m telling you about how I protected the honour of the woman I love. Logic has nothing to do with it.”

Something expanded in her throat, spreading throughout her body. An effervescent lightness bubbling under her skin. She lifted her hand to grasp his own; twisted her face into it to kiss it.

“Of course. Keep going, ser. My knight in shining armour.”

She didn’t feel quite so tired anymore.


	10. Princess Bride!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for sameboots/agirlnamedkeith

The one-handed man was drunk and shouting challenges at everyone who passed too close to the stoop he was reclining against. “I am the best swordsman in all Westeros,” he said to one, “Stand and fight, you coward,” he said to another, brandishing his rapier haphazardly. 

Periodically he dropped the sword so that he could take another, deep swig from his wineskin. One time he did that, the sword rolled away from him a little, and one of the braver smallfolk tried to snatch it up, but though he was drunk, he was still quicker than most. He pitched forward and grabbed it back, and waved it in the man’s face.

He stepped back, wise enough to see the deadly glint in the drunk’s eye. But still he cried, “Someone call the brute squad!”

“Yes, calllll brute squad,” the drunk slurred. “I-I’ll take them all down. Jaime Lannister can be beaten by no man.”

“I am no man,” a voice –the brute, probably–said from somewhere behind him. 

“Say that to my face…” Jaime whirled his head around–for some reason it wasn’t cooperating–until he locked eyes on the ugliest beast he never thought he’d miss.

Those blue eyes saw everything.

He lowered the sword. “Brienne.”

“Look at what you’ve done with yourself.” She looked him up and down, not liking what she saw.

He burst into tears.

**Author's Note:**

> My [ask inbox](https://slipsthrufingers.tumblr.com/ask) is always open for prompts. Feel free to ask for whatever you'd like, though I make no promises on if or when they'll be filled. You can also request things here if you like, and I'll link you if I ever do anything with it :)


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